


Herr Todesengel

by foundCarcosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the war is near. The humanity of the nations involved is nearer. [Written 20 April 2011]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Herr Todesengel

He was just clambering into the trench at the Seelow Heights when he heard the low, raspy voice.

“They’re coming. Tomorrow. Stay here and you’ll die.”

The soldier nearly snapped his neck to see whence the voice had come. “ _Who’s there?_ ”  
But he needn’t have asked. An officer sat with a knee drawn up, his uniform nearly in tatters and his flesh a mass of lacerations and sickly bruises.  _His officer._  
Daecher drew himself up short, his dirty brow furrowing at this unsolicited thought. He didn’t know this man from Adam…

“Don’t worry about who I am, Daecher. Listen to what I say. They are coming, and they are formidable. It will do you, nor Berlin, no good to stay here.”

And Daecher, he was inclined to listen, despite the fact that there was no name sewn onto this officer’s breast, no identifying features… he was German, but he was more than just German. Had Daecher’s allegiance not been to a power much more great than his own mind, he would have thought this man to be Germany himself.  
 _That is absurd. Der Führer is Germany._

As if he knew, knew what this soldier was thinking, the stranger smiled grimly. “Do you hear me?”

“Ah—! I hear, yes, I hear. But how do you…?”

And the officer was up like a shot, clambering to feet that shouldn’t have been able to hold his gaunt form, and grasping Daecher by the shoulders to wrench him around. “Look! Look east! What do you see?”

A tight, rough voice. The voice of desperation and far too much knowledge. Daecher looked east, and told him what he saw.  
“Red. I… I see red. Sir.”

“Go back, to Berlin. Go and defend our city.”  
But Daecher did not hear these words. The shaken soldier heard, _“Go back, to Berlin, for that is where you’ll die.”_

He took one last furtive look at the officer, and his heart quickened. For a moment, _he knew who he was_. And when he opened his mouth to murmur the customary “Heil Hitler”, he found himself saying “Heil Deutschland” instead.

—

The red that Wilhelm Daecher had seen on the dismal evening horizon billowed into the ranks of an army, haggard yet mad-eyed Soviets in greatcoats flanked by big, ugly Katyushas and trundling tanks. Ludwig watched from Berlin’s border as they shelled the very trench that he’d ordered Daecher to abandon, his heart barely beating and his breath stilled. Imperceptibly, his hands trembled.

It would be days before Ivan Braginsky met him at the doors of the Reichstag. Bloodshot violet eyes met unfocused blue ones, and Ludwig could swear Ivan had grown since the last time they’d met.

“Your _Führer_.” Ivan’s smile was brittle — not as bloodthirsty as Ludwig had grown to expect, but definitely devoid of mirth. Only later would the German learn of the Russian’s terrible losses and careening journey towards the brink of madness. “Where is he?”

Ludwig held back a wince.  
 _“You have failed us! You have failed me!” The business end of Ludwig’s crop cracked against the wall to the rhythm of his steps. “You promised greatness for all of us! We would be the only world power, we would defeat all who opposed us … but look at you! Look at me! Look at your beloved fucking nation!”_

“He is… not here.”

Ivan’s smile held. “But I am…”

The bombardment, the rush of Soviet soldiers and the breaking of glass and the shelling and the cries of vengeance, overwhelmed Ludwig then, and he knew nothing else as Ivan took him down.

“My little angel of death… no more. No more.”  
Hidden from the worst of the battling, the Russian cradled the German’s head in his lap. His unblinking eyes stared unseeingly in front of him, his expression almost beatific with shock and temporary madness as the German capital crumbled around them.  
“Sleep, my little angel of death; sleep while you can, _da_. For greater suffering awaits us all…”


End file.
